


Of Cows & Crushes

by werewolvesandarrows (nerdy_farm_girl)



Series: Birthday Fics [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (scott administers shots), Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Farmer Derek, Librarian Stiles, M/M, Needles, Past Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Veterinarian Scott, past scott/isaac, past scott/kira/stiles/malia, vague description of cow giving birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5434052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/pseuds/werewolvesandarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The familiar scent of hay, silage and manure doesn’t do that much to calm him, especially when the door swings open and Scott and Stiles practically stumble inside. They’re both wearing muck boots now, and Scott has a bag slung over each shoulder. It shouldn’t be - muck boots are actually the most unattractive item of footwear any person could wear. No one should look good with their pants stuffed all into their rubber boots. But for some god awful reason Derek wants to push them both up against a wall and kiss them senseless. Because that’s exactly what he needs right now, to have the hots for not one, but two taken guys who are dating each other.<br/>Perfect.<br/>This day can’t get any worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ANTchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANTchan/gifts), [KuriKuri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKuri/gifts).



> I wrote the first chapter of this for Kris' birthday last week, and just had to continue. I love me some farm AUs, and Kuri wrote me an awesome scerek farm AU for Christmas which inspired me to write this.

Derek’s walking the fence line when he hears the unmistakable sound of a diesel engine, probably half a mile away. It’s most likely Deaton, he’s supposed to be coming today to check on a couple of pregnant cows, vaccinate some calves, and inspect the injuries on his quarter horse Ollie’s hind legs from some old barbed wire he got tangled in last week. With his dog Bud on his heels he cuts across the pasture, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his tank top. The July sun seems hotter than it’s ever been, the heat bugs buzzing obnoxiously beneath his feet. As much as he likes Deaton, along with the vet comes a hefty bill, and milking cows doesn’t exactly a millionaire make. Not that there’s any place else on earth he’d rather be than on his farm with his cows, horses, chickens and dogs, but a money tree wouldn’t hurt. He can hear Laura’s voice in the back of his head telling him that _she_  doesn’t have a problem spending her part of the insurance money, and that he’s absolutely ridiculous for only using a small portion of his third of it to rebuild the family’s farm house. He can’t seem to find the words to explain to her that he feels responsible for what happened to their family, for the fire that burned up his life. It just feels  _wrong_  to use the money that came from it. Of course, Laura would counter that by saying it’s  _wrong_  for him to continue living in exile for ten years after the fact.

Whatever. 

The truck rolling down his driveway trailed by a cloud of dust isn’t the familiar white GMC that Deaton usually drives. No, this one is more beat up, a dark green Dodge dually with a utility body. When he squints it doesn’t look like Deaton’s driving either, in fact, both the driver  _and_  the passenger look like they’re his age or younger. Derek doesn’t even bother trying to hide his eye roll and dramatic sigh. There’s a reason he lives on the outskirts of Beacon Hills all alone with only his animals for company. And that reason is that people are the actual worst. They always want to talk, ask him how he’s doing, pet his dogs, hit on him and are just generally annoying.

He’s preparing himself to tell these  _kids_  that they’re obviously in the wrong place when the driver hops out of the truck. Derek’s words die in his throat when he sees the Beacon Hills Veterinary Services logo embroidered on the left pocket of the guys’ denim work shirt.  

“Who are you?” he growls, forcing himself not to react when his rude tone is met with a smile that might actually be made from sunshine. “Where’s Deaton?”

“Hey dude,” Sunshine Smile says, holding out a hand. “I’m Scott McCall, I’m taking over the large animal portion of Dr. Deaton’s practice.” Derek accepts the handshake, forcing himself to only squeeze a  _little_  extra hard, you know, for intimidation purposes. It doesn’t seem to faze Scott, who continues smiling his lopsided grin. “I’ve got my-”

“Light of my life?” A voice pops in from the other side of the truck. An awfully familiar one. “Moon and stars? Honey bear? Lovah?” Scott rolls his eyes as the owner of the voice walks around the hood of the truck, smirking proudly while chomping on a piece of gum.

“I was going to say boyfriend, but I guess  _Lovah_ will have to do,” Scott looks up at Derek like they’re going to share some kind of fond look, and Derek forces himself to at least look something other than gutted. It’s not every day that a guy finds out that his years spanning, tooth rotting, embarrassing as all get out, school boy crush on the local sheriff’s son, that he maybe thought was possibly mutual, has definitely been unrequited. Judging by the slight crinkle to Scott’s brows, Derek has only succeeded in looking deranged.

“Oh look, it’s my favorite farm boy!” Stiles, because of course Derek has a crush on someone named Stiles, sing songs, punching Derek solidly in the arm. He shakes out his hand and grumbles under his breath, but Derek’s attention is more caught by Scott, who seems to be giving him an appraising look, like he’s a cow up for auction or something. It should be unnerving, and normally when people look at them like that Derek has to fight back the urge to injure them. Right now though, he kind of likes the tingly feeling running down his spine as deep brown eyes sweep across his chest.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

“The girls are this way,” he mumbles, turning abruptly on his heel and stalking off towards the main barn.

“So this is your farm boy huh?” Scott whispers, his voice carrying on the breeze and not very well masked by the scuffling of his and Stiles’ feet. “I thought you were exaggerating about how hot he was.” The tips of Derek’s ears and the back of his neck burn hot, and he wills it down, ducking into the cool darkness of the barn.

The familiar scent of hay, silage and manure doesn’t do that much to calm him, especially when the door swings open and Scott and Stiles practically stumble inside. They’re both wearing muck boots now, and Scott has a bag slung over each shoulder. It shouldn’t be - muck boots are actually the most unattractive item of footwear any person could wear. No one should look good with their pants stuffed all into their rubber boots. But for some god awful reason Derek wants to push them _both_  up against a wall and kiss them senseless. Because that’s exactly what he needs right now, to have the hots for not one, but  _two_  taken guys who are dating each other.

Perfect.

This day can’t get any worse.

“Let’s check out the mom-to-be’s first,” Scott offers, seeming to find his own way into the tie stall area and bee lining for the small Jersey tied at the far end. She whips her head up and  _glares_  at them as they approach but Scott it seems, is unaffected. “Hey pretty lady,” he murmurs, running one hand down her flank. She doesn’t seem to notice, too busy glaring at Derek. Derek glares back because he  _knows_  this one is going to be a pain in his ass. She’s small and mean, and will probably kick him every time he tries to put a milking machine on her. “She’s on the small side,” Scott says conversationally as he pulls on gloves that go all the way up to his shoulders. Derek nods and looks determinedly at the floor, kicking his toe through the sawdust. He may be a farmer, and he isn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty, but this part never fails to gross him out just a little bit.

“She tore through three fences when she came into heat,” he grumbles. “Got in with the neighbor’s beef herd.”

“Ah,” Scott chuckles over the squelch of Vaseline. “Well, the Reyes’ bull is small, she should be okay.” Derek just nods, shifting so that he can see the screen on the sonogram machine Stiles is holding. The calf looks to actually be in the right position, its little nose resting neatly on top of its two front hooves. “Looks like she’ll be ready to go in a couple days.”

The next three cows go just as smoothly, complete with Scott petting them and telling them: “ _you’re doing so well sweetie_ ” and “ _you’re going to be a great mom baby girl_ ”.

“Deaton doesn’t talk this much,” Derek observes as he leads them down to the calf barn. “I like Deaton.”

“You are such a grouch dude,” Stiles says with a grin. Derek refuses to look at him, if only out of concern for his own sanity. He’s spent too many years running into Stiles at the feed store (buying bird seed for his dad), and at the dinner (getting his dad a salad and himself some curly fries) and at the library (‘ _wow Hale I never thought I’d see the day when you’d willingly enter my place of employment’_ ) to know that as annoying as Stiles is, he seems to have a knack for turning Derek on  _and_ embarrassing him with only a smirk and a few choice words. “Does it like, physically pain you whenever you hear my voice? It looks like it might.”

Derek rolls his eyes and yanks open the door to the calf barn, taking a second to pull himself together before glaring at Stiles. “It’s not so much the sound of your voice as it is the words you say.” There. That ought to show him. He even sounded like a normal person there for a second.

“Where’d you get that from, Tumblr or something?” Stiles snorts, pushing past Derek and leering at him as their bodies brush.

Derek hates that he feels it all the way to his toes,  _hates_  that when Scott brushes by him it only gets worse. And by worse he means better, especially when Scott leans down and lets one of the calves suck on his fingers while he scratches her head. Of course it’s only natural to let his eyes travel down the curve of Scott’s spine to his really nice ass-

“Ahem.” Derek jerks his head up to find Stiles watching him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed suspiciously. He knows his cheeks are probably brilliantly red, can feel the heat radiating off them in the coolness of the barn. Swallowing hard he heads towards the larger calves, the ones that need their vaccinations.

“These ones need their first set,” he mumbles, gesturing to the four calves gathering at the half door of their stall and mooing at him. “The ones tied over there need their second set and brucellosis vaccinations too.”

Scott gives the calf (her name is Leila but no one needs to know that besides Derek), one last pat on the head before straightening up and pulling some syringes and a couple of bottles of vaccinations out of his bag. Derek can feel Stiles’ eyes on him as he and Scott slip into the stall. Stiles is probably angry that Derek was checking out his boyfriend, he figures, wrapping one arm around the nearest calf. She stills instantly, her sandpaper rough tongue dragging across the underside of his arm before she settles on trying to get as much of his tank top into her mouth at once as she possibly can.

“You’re not gonna tie them up?” Stiles asks from outside the stall. Derek doesn’t dare look at him, and instead pretends to be too focused on stroking the calf’s neck (which she loves, by the way) to glance his way.

“No, they’re used to me and small enough that I can hold them still. It’s easier on them.” And it’s true, the calves barely flinch when Scott administers their shots, his fingers quick and efficient as he loads the syringe and then disposes of the needle, over and over. Scott  _also_  whispers encouragement into the calves ears and lets them lick his face even though it probably hurts, and only laughs when one head-butts him in the chest and knocks him on his ass in the messy stall.

Derek might be a little bit in love.

Of course, all he has to do is glance sideways as Stiles seems to decide it’s necessary for him to sit on top of the stall door, biceps bunching and t-shirt riding up, to remind himself that he’s also a little bit in love with that asshole too.

He’s going to hell.

They manage to make it through the rest of the vaccinations without Derek making too much of an ass of himself. He mostly just keeps quiet and tries not to look at either of him. It might mean that his heifers get more intense neck scratches than they’ve probably ever had, but the cows seem to enjoy it none the less.

“Deaton said you have a horse you need me to look at?” Scott says as he pulls off his latex gloves and tosses them in the trash. Derek can’t help but stiffen slightly, his heart rate ticking up just a notch.

“Yeah, he’s back here.” He leads Scott and Stiles out of the barn and up towards the house, trying to calm himself down. It’s just that he feels responsible for Ollie’s injuries, and is embarrassed that he let his beloved horse get hurt. He trusted Deaton not to judge him, or at least to keep any judgmental comments to himself. And he _knows_  there is nothing he could have done. His family hadn’t used barbed wire for fencing in over twenty years, but it had been used for decades before that by every rancher in the area, and there was no telling how much of it is packed in the dirt and curled around trees. But just because  _he_  knows it doesn’t mean Scott and Stiles won’t judge him for it.

Ollie is contently munching on grass in Derek’s back yard, tail flicking lazily at flies. The grass was getting long anyways, so it had only made sense to set up a temp fence for Ollie while he was injured. Plus, it made it easy for Derek to check on him whenever he wanted, and took away any worries about additional barbed wire. Ollie seems to be okay with the arrangement, especially when Derek slides open the kitchen window and feeds him snacks. What? He likes his horse more than he likes most people.

Ollie’s ears flick towards them as they approach, nostrils flaring slightly before he whinnies softly and trots towards Derek. He’s still favoring his rear left leg, but seems to be putting more weight on it every day.

“Hey buddy,” Derek murmurs, hopping over the fence. “It’s not on,” he says over his shoulder, pulling a peppermint out of his pocket and unwrapping it. Ollie pushes his head against Derek’s chest and nickers, mouthing sloppily at the hem of his tank. He manages to get drool all over Derek’s hand when he finally takes the peppermint, but he doesn’t seem to mind when Derek wipes it back on his shoulder.

“Wow, he’s beautiful.” Derek had almost forgotten that Scott and Stiles were there. They’re both staring at him with identical expressions of awe. “Is he… can we pet him?”

“Sure,” Derek nods while keeping an eye on Ollie. “He’s fine.” Scott and Stiles approach cautiously, hands held out flat in the way that little kids are taught to feed horses. Ollie mouths at their palms, and after looking supremely disappointed in the lack of snacks, blows a breath through his nose in Stiles’ face and returns to hanging his head over Derek’s shoulder so he can investigate the contents of his back pockets.

“He got tangled in some barbed wire. I think his stitches are ready to be taken out,” Derek says just to break the awkward silence. Scott and Stiles are both staring at him like they’ve never seen a man pet a horse before, and while it’s possible with Stiles (what, the guys a little unpredictable), there’s no way Scott’s that naive.

“Don’t you need to put a halter on him?” Stiles asks, rocking back on his heels with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. Derek frowns at him, fingers carding absently through Ollie’s mane.

“What is your obsession with me tying up my animals?”

Stiles skin flushes in an instant, all the way up to his scalp and spreading in blotches down his neck and towards his chest.

“He has a thing for hot guys and rope,” Scott says as bends towards Ollie’s rear leg, leaning slightly against the horse. He winks at Derek and bites his lip, and Derek knows that Stiles isn’t the only one who looks like a cherry tomato. “I’ve just got a thing for hot guys and horses.”

Derek blinks at the back of Scott’s head for a few moments before turning to look at Stiles, hoping for answers. Instead, Stiles seems to be glaring at Scott, his left eyelid twitching slightly.

“Bro,” he starts, taking a step towards Scott and freezing when Ollie lets out a warning huff. “You can’t steal my farm boy. That is totally uncool.”

“Don’t  _bro_  me babe,” Scott replies easily, raising his voice just loud enough to be heard over the tearing of bandages. “You know we can share.”

At that Stiles swings his head over towards Derek, who, of course, is in the middle of choking on his own spit because  _what is even going on here?_  For all that he gives off the appearance of an uneducated country boy, he’s never in his life felt so lost in a conversation.  _And_  he’s never been hit on by a guy and then  _appraised_  by his boyfriend in the way that Stiles is looking at him right now. Normally at this point his life is being threatened.

“You have the greatest ideas Scotty,” Stiles actually strokes his chin as if he has a beard, winking roguishly at Derek. “We can totes share the farm boy.”

“If you call me farm boy one more time,” Derek growls, trying to point menacingly at Stiles. It ends up just looking ridiculous, especially when Stiles snaps his teeth and pretends to bite him.

“Ooooo, whatcha gonna do  _farm boy_? Tie me up?” Stiles laughs when Derek lunges at him, jumping away and managing to get himself tangled up in the fence.

“I told you he has a thing for ropes,” Scott mutters as he straightens, patting absently at the new bandage on Ollie’s leg. “You should be able to take that off in two days. He’s healing really well. I’d keep him in this area for another week though just to be sure.”

“Thanks,” Derek finds himself smiling at Scott without really wanting to, but the way Scott’s entire face seems to light up in return is more than worth it.

“I’ll just print up your bill and then we’ll be out of your hair,” Scott shoots a fond look at Stiles, who seems to be having absolutely no luck getting himself untangled from the fence. Derek sighs and stops to help him, lifting up Stiles’ feet like a child so he can pull the wire off.

“You have pretty eyes.” Stiles’ own eyes widen like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, the pink flush returning high on his cheekbones.

“You have cow eyes,” Derek replies matter of factly, grabbing Stiles arm and carefully leading him out of the fence.

“Is that a compliment?” Stiles asks. “That sounded like you were trying to be nice but I honestly have no idea. I’ve never even noticed if cows have nice eyes? I feel like that’s a weird thing to say to someone. Who even says that anyways? What kind of person goes around comparing other people to cows? That’s the kind of thing that usually gets me slapped across the face man…”

Stiles continues to babble, and Derek has to turn his face away to hide the smile that’s threatening to lift the corners of his lips. Scott’s waiting for them at the truck, muck boots off and replaced with worn out work boots. He’s rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his shoulders, and Derek can’t help but wonder what the tattoo wrapped around his bicep would feel like against his fingers and under his tongue.

Stiles continues to talk as he marches straight over to the hose and sprays off his boots, apparently unconcerned with the fact that no one is listening to a word that is coming out of his mouth. He stomps towards the back of the truck before awkwardly pulling off the boots and throwing them into the back and pulling out a pair of Adidas.

“Here you go,” Scott says, reaching into the backseat and grabbing a piece of paper off the mobile printer. “Deaton says you know the drill, but payment is due within the month.” Just as Derek’s about to grab the bill Scott snatches it back, hastily scribbling something at the bottom before he folds it up. “Just uh, think about it.” He smiles at Derek before righting himself in the driver’s seat and swinging the door shut.

“Do I have cow eyes?” Stiles asks him, leaning across the center console and batting his eyelashes.

“Yes.” Scott winks at Derek as he starts the truck, ignoring Stiles’ indignant squawking as he back the truck up before turning out the driveway.

Derek watches them go until the dust settles again, his blood rushing too loud in his ears. He feels like he’s just been hit by a tornado or something, everything all jumbled up and discombobulated in his head. With shaking hands (he really needs to get himself together), he unfolds the bill. He can’t help but let out the tiniest chuckle at the words scrawled across the bottom with two phone numbers:

_Call us, Farm Boy ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

“You did _what_???”

“Dude relax, I just gave him our numbers.”

Stiles tries to be surprised that Scott decided to, essentially, ask out his burning hot, grumpy as hell, crush, but he really, really isn’t. Appalled, maybe; annoyed, a bit; but surprised, no.

It’s just that usually they discuss these kinds of things, or like, it happens much more naturally. Like when Scott was dating Kira and he was dating Malia in college, and then they were all kind of dating each other. They never exactly talked about that, just regular dates turned to double dates turned to group snuggling on the couch. And it worked for them at the time. There was also that time last year when Scott went out with Isaac from the hardware store on a couple of dates. Before that even happened, Scott had insisted on talking about _everything_ with Stiles, to make sure he was going to be okay with it. (He was _fine_ by the way. Maybe just a little jealous of Isaac and his cheekbones and dumb hair, but that was just because he doesn’t really _like_ Isaac anyways. The dude’s an asshole. Okay, so maybe the whole polyamorous thing works better for him when it’s all one big relationship and he’s not feeling like he’s missing out on something. But he wants Scott to be happy and Scott did bring up that they could _both_ date Isaac, which _no_. Isaac’s hot and everything and like, Stiles might be down to bone him once or something, but he is so not in for like spending extra quality time with him, so he’s working on learning to bend a bit. And curb his jealousy by doing yoga. Which mostly ends with him falling asleep on his yoga mat in front of the TV, but that’s not the point). _Anyways_ , he has zero indication that Derek would even be interested in a polyamorous relationship, never mind if he’s even interested in men. Sure, Derek blushes every time Stiles so much as tries to flirt with him, but he could just be embarrassed. Country boys are hard to judge is all, picking out which ones are cool and which ones are bigoted assholes can be a challenge.

“Dude, we don’t even know if he likes dudes, never mind if he wants to date two of them.” Stiles tries to keep his voice from turning into a whine but he can’t exactly help it, especially when Scott gives him one of those _looks_.

“Oh my god really? You should have seen his face the moment he realized who was with me. He’s totally into you dude.” Scott waves a hand at him like he wants to move on from this subject or something. Which no. There is no glazing over this. No way, no how.

“He was totally looking at your butt.” And that _really_ wasn’t where he wanted to take this conversation but apparently he has no control over his mouth.

“Well duh, my ass is _fine_ ,” Scott flashes him one of those smiles that never fails to make his heart beat a little faster. “And that’s why I gave him both our numbers.”

“Scott, this isn’t just,” Stiles sighs and covers his face with his hands. There’s no way he’s going to say this out loud, but he’s… afraid. What if Derek only calls Scott? He wouldn’t blame the guy, Scott’s like sunshine personified and his smile is made of rainbows and puppies. Not to mention he’s hot like burning and can do this thing with his tongue that makes Stiles see stars. It would only make sense if Derek wanted Scott instead. But well, Stiles is the first to admit that he’s both jealous _and_ insecure. His little heart probably wouldn’t be able to handle it if Derek only wanted Scott. Not to mention the possibility that Scott could decide that Derek is so great (because he is, under that grumpy exterior. Stiles had coffee with his sister once. It was life changing) that he wants to be _just_ with him. And not Stiles. “This isn’t just as easy as you think it’s going to be dude.”  While that definitely doesn’t address the actual issue, it’s totally true. Scott just has this oversimplified way of looking at the world that clashes heavily with Stiles’ over analytical view. Usually they balance each other out, but right now it’s stressing him the fuck out.

Scott just gives him another look, although this one seems more placating than anything else, and pats his knee.

“It only has to be hard if you make it that way, babe.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but covers Scott’s hand with his own anyways. He knows better than to argue with Scott on this anymore, it will just lead to them bickering in circles. There’s more important things to discuss anyways.

“Do I really have cow eyes Scott? What does that even _mean_?”

 

* * *

 

So, per usual, Scott was right (just, don’t ever tell him Stiles said that), and things actually turned out to be easy. Derek texted them both, in the same text message, at the same time. Although he _does_ mention that he didn’t know which number was which, so that might be part of the reason. But beggars can’t be choosers, and Stiles is going to take what he can get. Especially when Derek agrees to meet them for lunch at the diner.

It goes surprisingly well, although maybe that’s because Stiles tried not to talk _too_ much. He was distracted anyway, both by how pretty Derek is (he even wore new boots that didn’t smell like manure. It was amazing), and the fact that Lydia Martin and Allison Argent were totally eavesdropping in the booth behind them. Lydia even started texting him about their conversation. During their conversation. Because she’s a nosy pain in the ass. It doesn’t help that Allison’s giggles are not nearly as quiet as she thinks they are.

Regardless, Derek actually _laughs_ when Stiles asks him about the whole “cow eyes” thing (what, he just doesn’t get it alright), and it might be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Well, other than the time he and Scott spent a week driving around the North West the summer after Stiles graduated from college. But that’s a different story. Derek even hugs them both after, in the most awkward fashion possible, but still. Stiles has committed the warm press of his firm chest and the heat of his hands on his back to memory. (And also discussed it with Scott at length, but that’s between the two of them, alright?)

After their lunch date, Stiles is _buzzing_ with energy. He shelves three carts of books in under an hour, texts Scott incessantly, and even manages to convince Allison and Lydia to come visit him (and bring him coffee) so that they can chit chat (read: gossip about everyone else and sigh about how hot Derek Fucking Hale is).

He’s so close to drifting off to sleep that night, with Scott snuggled up behind him, of course, when Scott’s phone decides that now would be a great time to start ringing. Loudly.

“Ignore it,” he grumbles when Scott starts to pull away. He knows Scott can’t, knows that part of taking over part of Deaton’s practice comes with taking midnight emergency phone calls from farmers. Doesn’t mean he’s got to like it though. “Stay wiff me.”

Scott ignores him, the icy air of their bedroom hitting Stiles like a slap to the face when Scott throws off the covers. Stiles lets out a squeal and burrows deeper under the blankets, rolling around into he’s snuggly burrito-ed up. Scott’s talking in soft tones, his voice fading in and out with the hum of the air conditioner. Stiles struggles to hear the words, catching “labor”, “how long”, and “position”, brain muddled with sleep. Normally at this point Scott will kiss him on the forehead and Stiles will be asleep before he’s even out the apartment door. This time however, Scott is being abnormally loud with his preparations.

“Hey,” he says, tone all wrong, excited even. Stiles forces one eye open, squinting into the hellish light from the bedside table. “One of Derek’s cows is having complications.” Scott smiles like this is something to be excited about. “Wanna come with me?”

“Shhhhh,” Stiles groans and pulls Scott’s pillow over his head. Scott never asks him to come along anymore, not since that time Stiles fainted while Scott was castrating piglets. So why would he ask now? There’s absolutely nothing special about a cow giving birth that Stiles wants to - oh. He sits up fast enough that the room spins, the pillow falling to the bed as he struggles to escape from his blanket cocoon. “I’m coming, I’m coming, wait for me okay,” he pants, legs finally bursting free from the blanket and sending him sprawling across the floor.

“Relax, I’m waiting,” Scott laughs from what sounds like the living room, obviously enjoying Stiles’ mad rush to get dressed. It’s just that well… _Derek_. Even though Stiles _just_ saw him at lunch, he’s not about to pass up the opportunity to see him again. There’s just something about seeing Derek on his own turf that intrigues him. It’s like that slight hunch to his shoulders and the tension in his stance is just _gone_ , and he’s just _more_ than usual. Also, the last time they were there Derek was wearing one of those really thin sleeveless undershirts and it was maybe the best thing ever.

Stiles manages to stumble his way out to Scott’s truck five minutes later, flannel pajama pants stuffed into his muck boots (that Scott insisted he own even though they’re horrible) and a ratty sweatshirt pulled over his sleep shirt. Scott’s waiting for him, of course, doing that dumb lip biting thing that makes Stiles very angry. And also very turned on, but he’s turned on like 75% of the time anyways, so it’s nothing new.

“Stop laughing at me and drive,” he grumbles as he slams the door behind him, hunching down in the passenger seat and wrapping his arms around himself. Scott laughs but backs the truck out of the spot anyways, heading out towards Derek’s farm. His head still feels groggy, like he needs to go back to sleep (because he really, really, does), but the rest of him is slowly waking up, fueled by the exciting prospect of seeing Derek again. It starts with his fingers tapping against the center console, and then the heels of his boots thudding together in time to the song on the radio.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” Scott murmurs gently, like he’s _sorry_. Stiles steals a glance at him, eyes narrowing on the barely restrained twitch at the corner of his stupidly plush mouth.

“You know I had to come asshole,” he grumbles, taking a swig of the half empty energy drink sitting in the cup holder. It’s warm and he winces as it goes down, praying to the Red Bull Goddess to help wake him up.

“Only ‘cause you’ve got a serious case of FOMO.” Scott nods sagely at the dark road ahead of them, as if the words that just came out of his mouth made any sense at all. They don’t. They really, really don’t.

“What the hell is FOMO?”

“Fear of missing out, bro,” Scott explains. “It’s what the youths are saying now, Kira told me.”

“First of all, _youths_? Scott, we’re only twenty eight, I don’t think we’re old enough to be referring to any demographic as _youths_.” The truck hits a bump and Stiles grits his teeth, waiting for the clattering of all the supplies in the back to quiet before continuing. “Secondly, I find it hard to believe that anyone actually says FOMO in conversation. And _thirdly_ , I totally do _not_! I just, you know…”

“Want to see exactly what happens between me and Derek?”

“Yeah! Exactly!”

“Dude… you’ve totally got FOMO.” Scott looks so _pleased_ with his diagnosis, like Stiles is a cat he just figured out has like rabies or something. Or well, maybe not rabies. Lyme disease, maybe. Do cats get Lyme? See, this is why Stiles did not become a vet.

“Kira probably made that up to screw with you,” he grumbles, attempting to distract Scott from the fact that he is definitely right and he totally has FOMO. If it’s even a thing.

“Not uh, I looked it up on Urban Dictionary and everything,” Scott shoots back, as if Urban Dictionary is like, an _actual_ dictionary or something.

“Oh right, because you should totally believe everything you read on Urban Dictionary.”

“Oh my God, you’re just mad because you have FOMO!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

They manage to argue all the way to Derek’s, over bumpy back roads and down his dusty driveway. The sight of Derek himself, standing in front of the barn waiting for them, is sobering though. He looks anxious, eyes wide and mouth set in a hard line. There’s something questionable stuck to the bottom of his t-shirt, and he’s pacing, hands clenched in fists. Scott scrambles out before the engine even stops turning, leaving Stiles to tumble out after him.

Scott and Derek are already entering the barn by the time Stiles manages to regain his balance and follow. They’re talking in muted whispers, and he can’t quite find the focus to parse out what they’re saying anyways. Besides, he’s got more important things to focus on, like deciding who has the better ass, Scott or Derek. (He’s leaning towards Derek, but that might partially be because Scott is wearing a particularly baggy pair of boxers, and Derek looks kind of like a briefs type of man. Further analysis, preferably with less clothing, is required).

The barn is quiet, but peacefully so. Unlike the last time he was here, it’s full of cows, most of them lying down and munching on silage or chewing their cud (one time, Stiles asked Scott to explain to him what “cud” really was, and it’s so gross but also kind of cool? Like, cows have four compartments in their stomach, and they basically burp their food up and chew it twice, and Stiles doesn’t know whether he wants to puke or like find out more information about it).

Derek walks straight through the barn and out another set of doors, heading for a smaller building with lights shining warmly through the dirty windows.

Derek and Scott leave a trail of dark footprints in the dew soaked grass, Scott’s muck boots squeaking on every other step. Derek’s boots on the other hand are worn and kind of gross, caked with manure and starting to come apart at the seams. Maybe Stiles will buy him a new pair for Christmas or something.

“She’s in here,” Derek murmurs, the hinges on the building's’ door creaking as he swings it open. Stiles catches a glimpse of a white cow before Scott blocks his view, hurrying inside. He takes a few moments to clear his head, sucking the humid night air into his lungs. Scott’s been his best friend since they were four years old, which means that Stiles has witnessed countless births. It started when Scott’s dog Roxy had puppies when they were eight, and hasn’t really stopped. The miracle of life never fails to hit him hard in these moments, but that doesn’t mean the whole thing isn’t a little gross. So he’s just preparing himself, is all.

After a moment he slips inside the building, taking in the scene. The concrete floor is covered in a thick layer of wood shavings, the area around the cow stained and damp. She’s laying down but in an upright position, looking not all the concerned about her predicament. Stiles decides she’s a pretty cow, predominantly white and speckled with baseball sized black spots. The skin around her eyes and her eyelashes are black too, making it look like she’s all gussied up for a night out on the town or something. Like she’s going to party until the cows come home… heh.

Contrary to the cow, Derek seems to be _very_ concerned about the predicament she’s in.

“Her water broke four hours ago,” he grumbles, crouching near her hindquarters and balancing himself with a hand pressed against her hip bone. “She’s just not really _trying_.” He huffs like she’s personally offended him. Stiles wants to laugh, wants to ask what her name is, and wants to ask Derek why he hasn’t tied her up just to carry on with tradition. Instead he retreats to a corner, sitting down in the surprisingly soft shavings and leaning against the wall. Derek’s dog, who he hadn’t even noticed lying on the other side of the cow, comes over immediately, tail wagging low like it’s not sure it’s allowed to move. Stiles makes grabby hands in its direction, smirking at the tag on its collar that says Bud. Bud practically collapse on his lap, wriggling around until he’s curled up comfortably between Stiles legs.

“Dude, you need a bath,” Stiles grumbles, grimacing at the dirty fur beneath his hands.

“He’ll just roll in something anyways.” Stiles looks up to find Derek watching him, corners of his mouth twitching.

“I’m helping you wash him next time,” Stiles says, fingers buried in Bud’s fur anyways. “It’ll be fun.” Derek makes this face like he heartily disagrees, but Stiles doesn’t miss the way his ears turn red. Something warm settles in the pit of his stomach, and any regrets he had about crawling out of bed for this vanish.

He’s content to watch as Scott pulls on his giant, shoulder length gloves, the ones that are connected with an elastic band that runs along the back of his neck. Stiles tried to put them on one time and managed to slap himself in the face instead of actually accomplishing anything. Luckily the only witness had been Deaton, and that guy is just kind of creepy anyways.

“I’m just going to see if it’s in the right position,” Scott says quietly. Stiles stares determinedly at the white (well, used to be white) spot on the top of Bud’s head, preferring _not_ to watch what’s happening in front of him. He still listens though, to the soft hum Scott lets out that has to mean good news, the gentle panting of Bud sitting between his knees and the low grunt that might mean the cow has decided to start pushing again. “The feet are right here,” Scott murmurs. “When she pushes we can pull.” Derek grunts in affirmation, and when Stiles chances a glance, he finds them both blocking the cow from his view. Which is good, because now he can totally stare at their shoulders and their backs without anything gross marring the uh…landscape.

They look good together, both broad shouldered and muscular, Scott’s skin contrasting starkly against Derek’s where their arms touch. The cow moos quietly, and Derek and Scott move in unison, their shoulders flexing and bunching as they pull. It continues like that for almost fifteen minutes, until Stiles can see the sweat beading on Derek’s neck and staining the back of Scott’s shirt. The pull one more time, hard. Stiles snaps his head up at the weird squelching noise, unable to look away as Scott yelps and Derek scrambles to his feet.

Stiles would be grossed out, but he’s too busy watching as Scott grins down at the little calf on the floor in front of him, sticking his fingers in its mouth as it coughs, helping to clear out the mucus. The cow is mooing quietly, sounding almost urgent as she struggles to her feet. Derek calms her with a hand on her neck, the other reaching for the calf's front legs and dragging it up to its mother’s head.

If cows can be delighted, this one definitely is, happily cleaning off her calf.

“You know,” Stiles says, eyeing the way Derek and Scott are smiling kind of helplessly at each other. “You two could totally be a Hallmark movie. Oh my god, lonely, grumpy, painfully good looking farmer meets the wet behind the ears, hot as hell, veterinarian and then they fall in _lurve_. I could totally make a killing off of that.”

“And where do you fit in?” Scott asks, not unkindly, as he expertly pulls off his stupid gloves. Stiles watches, trying to figure out how he does it, only to be interrupted by Derek.

“Obnoxious librarian who doesn’t know how hot he is and manages to seduce them both with sarcasm and innuendos?”

Stiles’ jaw drops, eyelashes fluttering, unable to decide which thing he’s going to be indignant about first.

“Accurate,” Scott grins, biting his lip in that _way_ again.

“That is offensive!”

“It’s really not,” Derek cuts him off, taking three very purposeful steps towards him. Stiles first instinct is to flinch away but he fights it, even when Derek grabs a fistful of his sweatshirt and pull him to his feet (okay maybe he grabbed his elbow too but that’s not all that important. He’s still a _brute_ ). Stiles opens his mouth to just say _something_ , but he can’t.

Because Derek is kissing him.

Like, open mouthed, tongue and teeth and hot hands on his skin kissing him. Stiles doesn’t really know what to _do_ , because hello, super hot guy _kissing_ him and all, but he can just see Scott giving him a thumbs up out of the corner of his eye, so he goes for it. Derek sighs when Stiles slides his fingers into his hair, and his hips twitch when Stiles bites down on his lip.

“You’re an idiot,” Derek pants against his mouth, grinning as Scott tugs him back. Stiles just flips him off, too invested in the way Scott’s fingers curl around the back of Derek’s neck, and the way Derek’s hands look on Scott’s hips to really come up with a good enough comeback. (And oh boy, he can’t _wait_ until he can make the comeback joke in bed. It’s going to be _epic_ ).

“You guys can stay here tonight, if you want,” Derek mumbles, his face hidden in Scott’s hair. Stiles grins at Scott, who looks a little bit like he might want to _cry_ because Derek is so adorable. It’s gross. And also very cute, but Stiles is going to go with gross.

“You couldn’t make us leave if you tried, big guy.”

 

* * *

 

**Five Months Later**

 

“This is ridiculous.”

“It’s fun Derek, where’s your Christmas Spirit?”

“Up my ass apparently.”

“I know what’s definitely up your ass,”

“Do not-”

“Scott’s come.”

“Stop.”

“And mine.”

“Stiles.”

“Together.”

“Stiles we’re going to be at my mom’s in like ten minutes,” Scott sighs, exasperated. “We can’t go in there with Derek still flustered from talking about sex.” Stiles huffs and flops back against the seat, making Derek curse.

“If you’re going to insist on sitting in the middle, keep your fucking legs still,” he growls, shifting the truck into fifth just a _tad_ bit more aggressively than necessary.

“I just like having your hand between my knees babe,” Stiles shoots back with a grin. The flush crawling up Derek’s neck means victory, and the only thing stopping him from doing a little happy dance is Scott’s hand clamped down on his other thigh.

“I’m glad we had to squeeze into Derek’s truck just for that,” Scott grumbles, even though his eyes are light and happy. “It’s not like you aren’t touching each other 24/7.” Stiles smirks and leans heavily against Scott, pressing little kisses up his throat.

“Oh please,” he says, nipping at Scott’s ear. “You’re just mad I called dibs.”

“Just shut up,” Derek growls, smacking at Stiles thigh. “We do not need to greet your parents with all of us sporting hard-ons. Again.”

Stiles throws his head back and laughs, shoulders shaking as first Scott’s giggles and then Derek’s quiet chuckles join his. By the time they make it to Melissa’s they’re wiping tears from their eyes, but thankfully boner free.

For now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also posted on my [tumblr](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com/post/138735920367/omg-pls-write-cow-on-the-roof-i-would-die)  
> inspired by this [post](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com/post/138705745372/authorkurikuri-istenallatkertje)

“ _You can handle feeding the heifers for one night Stiles_ , they said,” Stiles huffs under his breath, lugging two buckets of milk down to the calf barn. “ _It’ll be fun,_ they said.” He sets the buckets carefully down and shoulders open the door, hissing at the barn cats that appear out of _nowhere_ to try and steal a drink. Picking the buckets back up he steps into the barn, scowling at the deafening chorus of moos that greets him. Derek and Scott are lucky he loves them so much, because he’s _certain_  he didn’t check no “animal care” boxes on the signup form. Well, not that there had been a sign up form, but you get the point. Stiles isn’t like Derek, who was raised with this shit, and he’s definitely not like Scott, who _chose_  to deal with this nonsense. No, he’s his own man, and cow care is not part of his makeup. And yet, here he is. 

In all honesty, he doesn’t mind it all that much. The calves are cute, and they make him laugh when they blow bubbles in their buckets of milk. (It’s not so funny when the little bastards suck up a mouthful of milk and then snort it all over him from their nose, but that’s only happened one time. One, terrible time where he swore he’d never feed calves again). Regardless, he manages to get the little ones fed and the big ones in from their pasture (with only minor swearing too, though that’s probably only because he has Bud with him, and the dog is much more experienced with cow related work than Stiles is). 

He’s walking back up towards the big barn when he sees it. His feet slow and his eyes squint, and he can’t really believe what he’s seeing.

There’s a cow on the roof of the barn.

“Are you seeing this?” He asks Bud, who wags his tail in what has to be agreement. Stiles takes a few steps closer, watching as the cows slides down a few feet, before coming to a stop and happily licking at a few shingles. Which _cannot_  be healthy, by the way. He slaps at his pockets, groaning when he remembers he left his phone in the house (after the last milk snorting incident, _and_  the numerous manure pit incidents and that one time some super hot asshole named Derek pushed him in the creek, Stiles has stopped carrying his cell. He can’t afford to replace it every two weeks). Now he’s close enough that he recognizes the cow, her tawny coat and distinctive white heart in the center of her forehead. Her eyes are dark and framed by thick lashes. _Apparently_  it’s a good think to have cow eyes. He’s still not convinced, but whatever. This is Derek’s favorite cow. Her name is Molly and Derek will deny it vehemently, siting that she’s mean and kicks him, but Stiles has caught him petting her _and_  giving her an extra handful of grain dozens of times. Stiles _does_  agree that she’s a pain in the ass though. The heart on her head is misleading, Molly is always the leader of any and all cow trouble at Hale Hollow Farm. She finds all the weak spots in the fence, she broke into the cornfield with a crew of followers and trampled half of it, and last winter she managed to climb onto the hood of Stiles’ jeep and fall asleep in between him starting it to warm up and coming back out to go to work. Of course, Scott was already gone and Derek was in the barn and by the time Stiles managed to get him out Molly was long gone. No one believed him. 

“Dude, I wish you could talk,” Stiles whispers to Bud, inching slowly away from Molly and the barn. He doesn’t want to spook her. “You probably have so much dirt on Derek, _and_  you’re my only eye witness for all of these shenanigans.” With one last glance at Molly, Stiles takes off for the house, running faster than he probably ever has in his life. All he has to do, is get in the door, grab his phone off the charger, and get back out before Molly manages to get down. It should be easy. 

It’s not easy.

Bud darts across his path every other step, barking that annoying high pitched park he uses to ‘scare birds’ (according to Derek), as if that’s an actual _thing_. A chicken runs squawking in front of him, and he has to leap over her, which _almost_  results in a catastrophic tumble. He saves himself at the last minute, swerving around the jeep and taking the porch steps in one long step. There’s a large chance he’s pulled several muscles throughout this journey (he’s not as young as he used to be), but he still crows with victory when he throws open the door and sees his phone sitting on the counter. He grabs it and spins, flat out sprinting back towards the barn.

He rounds the corner, camera already opened up, and she’s gone.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he pants, collapsing onto the lush grass. Bud lays down on his chest, tongue hanging _right_  in Stiles’ face, completely unaware of how gross every single part of him is. “Get off.” Stiles pushes him away, but pulls him back up against his side anyway, patting at his suspiciously crusted fur. It’s probably time for another bath, but Derek was also right about a) it being not fun _at all_  and b) Bud going and rolling in manure _immediately_  after without fail.

A shadow falls across Stiles’ eyes, and he sighs. Derek and Scott must be back from the feed store. “You’re never going to believe this,” he grumbles, squinting up at the person standing over him.

Except...

That’s definitely not a person. Molly the cow is looking at him curiously, sniffing at his jeans. She sniffs his face, and Stiles reaches up the way he’s seen Derek do, scratching at the underside of her neck. Instead of stretching out her neck like he’s seen _every_  cow do with Derek, Molly proceeds to snort, lick a stripe all the way from his chin to his hair, and then _burp_  in his face. 

It takes a second for it to sink in before Stiles squawks and scrambles to his feet, backing hurriedly away from Molly with his fingers forming a cross in her direction. “Demon cow.” He hisses, refusing to turn his back on her until he gets all the way around the other side of the barn. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Derek asks as he hops out of his truck, Scott tumbling out of the passenger seat. Stiles wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt, hoping it gets rid of most of the cow slobber.

“The demon cow was on the fucking roof Derek,” he insists, already gearing himself up for an argument. “I know you won’t believe me but _I_  saw her and Bud did too and she just _licked_  me and _burped_  in my face and-”

“Yeah she does that,” Derek shrugs, walking around the truck and pressing a soft kiss to Stiles’ lips. “All the calves fed?” Stiles just _stares_  as he pulls away and steps over to the bed of the truck, where Scott has already let down the tailgate. They each throw a fifty pound bag of grain over each shoulder, and Stiles has to take a moment to just _admire_  the whole musculature thing his boyfriends have got going on. They’re like... the hottest. _Focus Stiles, focus._

“Yeah she does _what_ , exactly? Burp in people’s faces or climb on the roof? Derek!” Stiles scurries after them, barely even getting distracted when Scott uses the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow after dumping the bags of grain. He has more serious things in his mind than _abs_  right now. Derek’s making _that_  face, the one where he’s trying really hard to look serious and not laugh and it’s actually super adorable and Stiles _hates_  it.

“You didn’t even give me a kiss,” Scott pouts, pressing up against Stiles and backing him against the nearest wall. It’s an effective distraction technique, because there’s no turning down a kiss from Scott, especially when he’s all demanding and warm and pressing his lips against his throat. Stiles groans and fists his hand in Scott’s hair tugging until he pulls his head up and kisses him _right_ , slow and wet and just enough to get Stiles’ blood rushing. 

He forgets all about _everything_  except for the taste of Scott’s lips and the slick slide of their tongues. And then a cow moos. And it all comes flooding back.

“Wait,” he pants, pushing gently against Scott’s chest. “I’m _trying_  to have a serious conversation with Mr. Hale. We can make out later.” Scott sighs but ultimately backs up, returning to the bags of grain he dropped on the floor. He starts ripping the tops off as Stiles stomps towards Derek, cornering him. The almost soothing sound of grain filling a barrel serves as the background for Stiles’ very serious stare down with Derek. Derek, who is now smirking proudly, his ridiculous eyes alight with mischief. It’s actually the worst, because Stiles just wants to pull a Scott and back him up against the nearest wall and kiss him senseless. 

“How could you have a cow that goes on ROOFTOPS and not tell me. That’s _vital_ information.” That’s it. He can handle this. Derek just laughs though, stupid dimples appearing beneath the three day stubble he’s got going.

“Oh she doesn’t climb on roofs,” he pats Stiles consolingly on his shoulder, apparently not affected by the dangerous narrowing of Stiles’ eyes. “She burps a lot. There’s no way she was on the roof. It’s impossible.” 

Stiles grinds his teeth, hands curling into fists and he sucks in a breath through his nose. Derek Hale is the absolute worst. He is going to give that jerk a piece of his mind. 

“No I _know_  what I hmph-” Derek cuts him off with a rough kiss, yanking Stiles up against him by the belt loops. He stumbles forward, catching himself with two hands on Derek’s chest, and okay, _maybe_  there’s better things than arguing about cows. Like feeling Derek up. “You’re the worst,” Stiles mumbles against his lips, shivering when Derek’s hands slip up beneath his shirt, calloused fingers dragging across his ribs. 

“You love it,” Derek teases, stubble scraping across Stiles’ jaw as leaves a trail of biting kisses down the side of his neck. Stiles loses any possibility of a reply when he feels Scott press up against his back, dick already half hard when he presses his hips against Stiles’ ass. Stiles groans and leans his head back, watching dazedly as Scott and Derek kiss over his shoulder, both of their bodies rolling deliciously against his. He’s going to die from this one day, he absolutely sure of it. 

He’s managed to get Derek’s pants unbuttoned and is working on slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of his briefs when there’s a clatter overhead. Stiles freezes, the Scott and Derek induced sex haze clearing in an instant. This is his chance.

He grabs Scott and Derek by the fronts of their pants and drags them outside before they even get a chance to protest. The sun’s almost sunk behind the trees, but there’s just enough fading light to see by. Stiles spins them as they burst through the door, letting out a whoop when he spots Molly, very clearly standing on the roof.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Derek says quietly, rubbing at his chin and looking absolutely ridiculous with his pants undone and his hair all mused. And by ridiculous, he means ridiculously hot. At the sound of his voice, Molly’s head shoots up and she moos happily, slipping across the roof. They watch in awe as she comes to a stop at the edge, stepping delicately down onto a stack of lumber, teetering precariously before she jumps down onto an old upside down water tub, and then to the ground.

“That’s not natural,” Scott whispers quietly, looking just as ridiculous(ly hot) with his lips swollen and kiss red. They all watch curiously as Molly trots over to Derek, rubbing her head against his chest until he reaches out and scratches her neck. This time she actually _sighs_  and stretches out her neck, eyes falling closed as Derek pets her. 

“Demon cow,” Stiles whispers, fixing a look of innocence on his face when Derek sends a glare his way.

Yeah, she’s definitely his favorite.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
